Presley pulls into a nearby parking space, takes the car out of gear, and tugs the lid of her baseball cap low over her face. Mother and daughters pile out of the minivan and walk together across the parking lot toward the building. Is the mother on staff here? Or is she here to conference with one of the girl’s teachers? Maybe she volunteers in the office a few days a week. The daughters sport matching green uniforms—skirts with jackets over tank tops—with their blonde hair in single braids down their backs. Game day. Will they play at home or away? Presley notices a turf field behind the school with a scoreboard that reads Home of the Hawks.
She waits forty-five minutes, but the mother never emerges from the building. Returning to the inn, she leaves her car with the valet attendant and stops by the coffee bar in the lobby for a to-go cup of hot brew before continuing out back. A wide veranda extends the width of the building. Breakfast is being served on the side of the porch to her left, while to her right, guests read newspapers and fiddle with their phones in a long line of rocking chairs. A semicircular stone terrace extends from the veranda. Moving to the waist-high wall at the edge of the terrace, Presley stares out across the grounds. While the view of the mountains from her third-floor suite is spectacular, from the terrace, she can better see the other buildings that make up Hope Springs Farm. Closest to her is a large barn constructed out of the same stone as the main building. There’s a tiny cottage with black shutters and an inviting front porch. Farther down the hill from the cottage is a structure that Presley assumes once served as a carriage house. A brick sidewalk stretches between the barn and carriage house from the terrace to a large lake at the base of the mountains. On the shore of the lake, partitioned off by orange fencing, a building of considerable magnitude is under construction.
Curious, she takes off on foot down the sidewalk. As she draws closer, she can see this new structure is a modern version of the same stone architecture as the main building. She stops at the orange fence and watches a crew of workmen pour concrete to form the base of an outdoor pool.
There’s a chill in the air, and as she tilts her head back, the sun warms her face. Without a cloud in the cobalt sky, the weather is autumn perfect.
A female voice startles her out of her reverie. “What do you think of our future spa?”
Presley didn’t hear her approach, and she’s surprised to see a woman about her age standing next to her. “Impressive. So, I was right? I guessed a spa, slash, fitness center, slash, pool.”
The woman adds, “Slash, casual restaurant offering healthy brunches, lunches, and snacks. The pool facility will encompass our natural hot spring.”
The thought of soaking in a hot spring on a bright autumn day like today brings a smile to Presley’s face. “That’s way cool.”
“And way warm.” The woman giggles at her own joke. “The wooden hut currently houses the hot spring.” She points at a rickety building at the far end of the construction site. “We’ll demolish the hut, and the spring will be open air to allow guests to enjoy the view. We haven’t decided what to call the complex yet. I figure I’ll know it when I hear it.” She extends her hand to Presley. “I’m Stella Boor, general manager here. Welcome to Hope Springs Farm.”
Presley takes her hand. “Everett mentioned you. You’re Billy Jameson’s daughter.”
“I am.” Stella’s smile spreads across her lips, connecting high cheekbones. Brown curls spring out from her head, a hairstyle that hints at a spunky personality. “You sound as though you knew Billy. Did your family vacation here?”
Presley shakes her head. “This is my first visit to Hope Springs. I never met Billy personally, but I know his music.” She places her hand on her chest. “I love his music, actually.”
“Me too.” Stella stares up at the mountains, a faraway look on her face.
Presley waits for Stella to say more. When she remains quiet, she wonders what is running through Stella’s mind. Is she conflicted about her feelings for her father?
Minutes pass before Stella returns her attention to Presley. “Are you enjoying your stay so far?”
Presley nods vigorously. “Very much so. I’m no expert, but I’ve stayed in my share of luxury hotels. Whatever the inn was like before, the renovated product is five-star in my book. That it’s been around for nearly a century makes it all the more intriguing.”
Stella appears impressed. “You’ve done your homework.”
She laughs. “I read your website.”
Stella beams. “I wrote the history myself.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, how did the inn get so rundown?”
Stella smiles warmly. “I don’t mind at all. Sadly, Billy had a chronic heart condition. About ten years ago, when his health declined, he allowed the buildings to deteriorate. The place was an absolute disaster when I first got here. We’ve come a long way. But we still have a long way to go.”
Presley angles her body toward Stella. “How so?”
“As long as the college is here, we will have weekend guests. We were once a popular spot for small firms who hosted their conventions here during the week. We’re facing some challenges in recovering that corporate business.”
Presley’s gaze shifts back to the
